SHACK 6 WEEK BEFORE

julie lomoe's hope dawns eternal.wordpress.com

The week before Christmas the large store heaving with people, indeed Christmas eve, crashing metal baskets or even plastic ones, no apologies, one women wide eyed, frantic, ploughing her way through the isles, literally pushing people aside to get to the last gateaux, looking lonely and forlorn and yet majestic with all its icing and accoutrements, many frantic in the race to get to the pastry counter before her.

This lady usually dignified quiet and apologetic but this was a matter of do or die, this prize CAKE IS MINE-----at all costs. 

Speaking to the bus driver, drawing deeply on his cigarette, smoke flowing from his mouth mixed with the frosty air, looking perplexed at the rushing passengers heading towards his bus, laden full to the brim, he recounts a tale of the 'dreaded week before Christmas', perplexed he tells of the road rage and cyclists knocked off their motor cycles and pedal bikes by large expensive cars and demonic drivers rushing home with the turkey and the back seats and boots full with shopping and presents, some with Christmas trees protruding from the windows.

The God of Mammon and the Deity of Materialism have their days of worship and devotion, the Golden Calf resurrected, and the ego to have the most resplendent party, to get stuffed with food with alcohol and indigestion, the TV on watching the regurgitated oldies and then feeling drowsy and feeling they must keep awake for the Queen's speech not really taken in, whilst the Ghost and Spirit of Christmas waits to be greeted and the homeless shivering in the cold go unnoticed and a war torn planetary carnage are still in full cry.   

SHACK 

SHACK IS ONE OF MY NICKNAMES FOR GEOFF FREED AND CAN BE FOUND ON:

WWW.SHACKISBACK.BLOGSPOT COM (SO FAR OVER 700 ARTICLES)

FOR WORLDLY SUBJECTS, LIKE POLITICS, CLIMATE CHANGE, STATE OF THE PLANET,

CONSPIRACIES, THE SIXTH EXTINCTION, PROPHESIES AND CULTURAL WITH ETHNIC NEWS, THE NEW RACE OF HUMANS, ET AND UFO.

GO TO:

WWW.GEOFFFREED.COM  (SO FAR OVER 300 BLOGS)

SHACK 5 THAW

nhgardensolutions.wordpress.com

Frosty morns, white hoary beards, nature in its winter glory.  Trees shed of leaves, they are in deep repose, silent, drawing in the vital energy of renewal.

 Squirrels displaying a dash or two, bright winter sunshine just squeezing through the polluted skies, with noughts and crosses played by some demonic entities in the spreading trails blazed by high flying cowboys in winged monsters.

Nature pristine in its winter adornment and those who walk the paths in joy and celebration with noses and cheeks rosy, fingers and toes cold but somehow warm and cheerful, such is the simple joy and boding of a New Year.

SHACK 

SHACK 4 FACELESS FACE

www.key-word suggestions.com

'I' look in the mirror----what a funny face.

'I' don't recognize you ---------you must have come from space.

Space has no form, 'I' cannot define it nor hold it, yet it spews forth all manner of things.

Like clouds they come and go, ever gliding over the background of space.

Seemingly no destination but to dissolve and rain.

They have a purpose----but do they know it?

What is mine?

 

SHACK

SHACK 3 ON THE WAY

Sharon Aldrick

The shattering truth of the naked mind just before it is stripped it is stripped of naked thought, and the thought of being a mad raving maniac living a stark cold dead dark world, running wild and bare to the bones, causes a swinging, a pendulum between the ego finding itself to be unreal, a mere software programme, desperately battling the surrender and capitulation to the seeming dark void of nothingness, and yet in that struggle to avoid emptiness, there are glimpses, tantalizing glimpses, subtle nuances of a beauty, a serenity, a peace and tranquility, a heavenly balm, the Siren's call of enlightenment.

Then the struggling, straining, peeling of the onion, dragging the feet, down the slippery slope and abandonment of the known, finally coming to nowhere--------and all is very, very well.

   Shack

   

SHACK 2 BARE LIFE

www.yo-yoo.co. il

I look at this hand and marvel at it, whose is this hand, this 'I'  that perceives it?

I find a definition of  'I' is only a bunch of thoughts that change very little over the course of my Life, who ever 'my' is, at the very least a modified version of the basic formulae of thinking .

Whose life, birth, death gone---a mere memory.

Where did this 'I' innocent at birth come from?

Show me your original face before your born questions the Zen Master.

'I' find a blank, a void to this Koan, 'I' lie if an explanation is offered such as God, The Universe, The Big Bang.

At birth a blank mind, devoid of thought, just an awareness clear and bright. This pristine, primordial awareness becomes a mind through the accumulation, the hoarding of thoughts, experiences overlaying the awareness these are not who 'I'  am.

Like a carpet covering the floor these life time experiences are an accumulation, a library, they seem to be real, solid, reality, only make belief, seemingly real.

On close observation with a faint smile and curiosity it may dawn upon the observer, this curios witness, that these comings and goings, the carpet and tapestry of this Life, merely cover the bare boards of awareness and the real seeker and self inquiry then one may come to the realization, that there is no real 'I' only a nameless, formless awareness of the babe and indeed all else is an appearance of reality, which in shocking truth is an illusion.

Can 'I'  live with no concrete 'I' can 'I' give up the carpet and live with bare boards? 

Shack

SHACK 1 FREEDOM

combiboilerleeds.com

A leaf blown by the Wind

No Particular Goal
Who is this Awareness, this witness?
No form, no thought 
A tramp, homeless person,
Homeless and yet at Home, The Children of the Universe, nowhere to lay their heads
whose head is it anyway, nothing real, nothing solid, 
Not up nor down, nor happy,  nor sad, No religion or politic, no need or care. 
Looking at those trapped in the world of form which rots and decays,
Desperately trying to stop ice melting in the hand and hold it,
Sand slipping through Fingers, looks at the grasping mind,
There is Nothing out there, nothing in here, where is out and here?
There is only THAT and even that does not exist,

IS this freedom?

 SHACK